


Elsewhere, Elsewhere

by Experi



Series: dez works thru a kinktober list [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, can i interest you in my esoteric rarepairs, i stand in front of a crowd and yell Perhaps The Headless Horseman Is Gay to resounding silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experi/pseuds/Experi
Summary: Salieri is simply trying to spend time playing music. Hessian offers distractions for his own amusement.(what's better than this, just avengers being dudes, just dudes being gay)
Relationships: Hessian | Avenger/Antonio Salieri | Avenger
Series: dez works thru a kinktober list [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931617
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Elsewhere, Elsewhere

**Author's Note:**

> you, normal: i ship popular and reasonable things  
> me, unhinged: i understand amasali is canon but have you considered i love salieri and think everyone should have a crush on him
> 
> anyways since fgo doesnt talk about hess much that means its free range 
> 
> kinktober list 1/31: handjobs

There isn’t _supposed_ to be a music room in Chaldea, or Novum Chaldea for that matter, but Salieri is not one who listens to supposed-to's. The simulation room exists, and if someone can create a functional simulation of a specific chunk of forest in he middle of nowhere down to the exact leaf litter (or whatever it was that da Vinci and the other programming aides were bragging about) then it’s not a stretch to ask them to make a room with a piano in it. Or demand them to make one. Whichever works.

He sequesters himself there when he’s bored or annoyed or anything that would be best worked away by playing something, which is most states of being for him. Its not difficult for others to see the room’s status and come by if they want to. 

Currently, he has an extra shadow, but just in the singular. One of the usual culprits for company. Hessian sits next to Salieri placidly for a few minutes, listening to him play. He doesn’t know much about music or anything Salieri tries to explain (always too passionate and a bit beyond his starting level of comprehension), but the piano sounds nice and to the untrained audience the notes that make Salieri mutter or the complaints he issues about his own playing are utterly baseless.

Salieri is always happy to have an audience (he won’t _quite_ invite listeners, the ongoing war between his self esteem and love for praise, but he certainly doesn’t make himself inaccessible), and Hessian gets his own fair share of bias on top of that. Salieri plays with flourish, trying to show off. It gets him one song performed in peace, completed to a signed ‘bravo’ when Salieri finishes and glances at his audience next to him. Just that first song, before Hessian scoots over on the piano bench and takes Salieri by the waist. With a tug and a bit of manhandling, he pulls Salieri onto his lap and keeps hands linked loosely over Salieri’s midsection. There’s not much in the way of spare room, but it’s manageable.

“What are you doing?” Salieri asks, though with curiosity instead of any particular affront.

Hessian shrugs, felt against the back of Salieri’s head. Answer being, then, ‘whatever he feels like.’ He gives a moment for Salieri to re-adjust, during which Salieri does absolutely nothing, before Hessian takes matters into his own hands by picking up Salieri’s wrist and returning his fingers to keys. Fair enough, a hint is a hint. Salieri resumes playing without any particular difficulty from having the headless horseman leaning against his back.

It’s a light tune that makes Hessian think of a carefree dance, springtime.

He’s noticed that Salieri likes songs like that, when he’s not on the field. All catharsis and humanity. It fits in a weird way, where Hessian’s the frigid part of inhumanity and Salieri’s the burning of it. Death was always a wintery thing to Hessian, whereas fire has its uses and you can find sprouts in the ash. Maybe that’s why he likes hanging around Salieri as much as he does, this shouting mess of a fever who still plays songs of romance and trivialities.

Or maybe Hessian’s not a philosopher and this is enough thinking about it, before he starts confusing himself. He was never good at analysis, even in life. He assumes. If he had a life. It’s fine. Hessian watches in the quasi-real way he sees things nowadays as Salieri plays, and he listens.

The music manages to keep his attention for a while. There’s an odd sort of comfort to it, a nostalgia that Hessian isn’t sure he can place a reason for and that Salieri isn’t sure what about the note makes it feel that way for himself, either.

Hessian’s gloves dematerialize. Hessian rarely shows his hands, or removes any layer over his skin at all. Fingers are purpled down to the middle knuckle a frostbitten necrotic black, though the actual skin aside from the colour displays nothing wrong — he can still feel with them, and none of the flesh is missing. Just a reminder than in some of the lives where people called Hessians fought, they froze. Hessian’s fingers are cold, too, especially against Salieri’s constant feverish temperature.

A hand wanders up over to Salieri’s face, fingertips skim over cheek in a light dancing touch. He can feel Salieri exhale slowly and tilt a bit into the contact. Hessian may not have a face but he can still express a kiss like this, a touch as intimate as a kiss would be anyways. One of the methods of communication that Salieri’s gotten to the point of understanding.

He lets his fingertips rest briefly over Salieri’s lower lip before skimming them along his jaw, a diversion to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Salieri’s ear, before dipping to trail dull fingernails down over the rise of his jugular. Hessian feels the slight hitch in Salieri’s breath more than hears it. Just a slight stutter is enough; he knows that Salieri’s neck is sensitive and even attention as light as this is enough to make him flush. He’s still playing the piano, though the song picks up a little in tempo for a few notes.

It’s comfortable, is all. A little surreal for people with their particular roles in like, that Salieri can still lean comfortably against Hessian’s chest and play a waltz as fingertips draw a kiss over his jaw.

Salieri exhales a laugh and tilts his head back against the divot of Hessian’s shoulder. His fingers still over the keys for a beat or three. “Yes,” he says softly. “I like you, too.” He gets the message. The music resumes.

Salieri shifts a little while he plays, a barely-there back and forth to keep time and let out a little of a pleased mood. For someone who thinks he’s cool and probably inscrutable, he’s really… not. It’s an odd kind of cute that, unfortunately or otherwise, reinforces Hessian’s vague inclination to tease him.

Hand shifts over Salieri’s midsection. Hessian moves a little lower, threads his fingers under the lower buttons of Salieri’s jacket. It’s easy to unbutton enough so he has the minimal space to untuck Salieri’s shirt.

Hessian can’t see Salieri’s expression, but he can guess at the surprised frown his hands get when Salieri looks down. “I see you came with an ulterior motive.”

Please, give him some credit, or at least leniency. Hessian raises the hand not under Salieri’s shirt to draw the little arc in the air before Salieri that he normally uses on himself to communicate a smile. Cheeky, intentionally playing innocent. Salieri grumbles something, and Hessian taps fingertips lightly against Salieri’s lips, which quiets him. Easy to placate. Salieri exhales slowly before scraping fangs against Hessian’s index finger in a light bite. “You’re terrible for my practicing.” It’s a very empty complaint. “...Should I move?”

‘Go ahead’ in too many words. It’s more or less what Hessian expected. Salieri may be good at many things, but self restraint isn’t one of them, especially when it comes to people paying attention to him. It doesn’t mean Hessian’s going to rush, though. In answer to the question he simply drops his hand to resume holding Salieri’s midsection in a loose hug. Not going anywhere. That’s clear enough (or, Hessian’s not interested in the effort of relocating). Hessian leans lightly against Salieri without moving for a few beats until Salieri decides he might as well do what he’d been trying to do here and resume playing piano.

This time, Hessian does notice the stuttered note when he traces thumb over the ridge of Salieri’s hip. He’d laugh if he had a free hand to do so.

Salieri’s soft to touch. It’s nice. He’s different from most of the rest of them; his human form isn’t one built for fighting or much used to it, perhaps one of the few who differentiates so sharply between his history as a human (or something approximating one, as he would protest) and his ability on the battlefield. He’s skinny and not particularly muscled; what scars he possesses are burns that flicker over him like a bad dream, rarely in the same place on subsequent days. Hessian’s almost absentminded about letting his hand wander under Salieri’s shirt, once he gets around to unclipping the other’s belt and pants button, his upper thigh.

If he moves slowly, then changing where his hands are makes Salieri trip up his playing. Salieri’s hardly _quiet_ in any sense of the word, and generally it’s deeply obvious how he’s feeling about anything at any given time, but it’s a little fun to have musical accompaniment. Salieri mutters wordlessly at him or hums a note for anything he likes. The light scrape of nails over skin, Hessian ghosting touch over his crotch. 

The song got quicker, Hessian realizes belatedly, while he was absorbed in the current task. Whoops. Salieri shifts against his thigh, antsy and impatient. He's trying to play along with Hessian's game here, but-- 

The arm holding him in place tightens a little in a generalized ‘ _don’t worry about it’_. “Hessian…” Salieri protests in a soft mutter. But, fine. He’ll hold still, sure.

Once he’s satisfied with Salieri’s acquiescing, Hessian leans back a little, gives Salieri breathing room and he slips hand under the waistline of his boxers. Salieri whines immediately, biting his lip and trying very hard to continue not moving as Hessian starts stroking his dick. Salieri’s used to how Hessian treats anything that captures his interest, attentive and meticulously. Despite that it still edges against his own self-consciousness, Salieri can handle it more or less casually, the feeling that he’s being scrutinized or his feelings are of great consequence. Embarrassing, but he really can’t complain like this. Fingers drop from the piano keys to twist in Hessian’s cloak bunched up under them. “Hesse. Harder, please--”

Well, since he’s been asked nicely. He obligingly tightens his fingers and moves quicker, pre-cum slicking his fingers. Salieri moans outright, rocking his hips to match Hessian’s movement as much as he can in the limited space. He’s given up playing entirely now. Hessian supposes he can let him, though he does miss slightly the ability to hear Salieri slip out of his own tenuous calm through tune. At least he can play Salieri just as easily. 

It doesn’t take him long before Salieri’s breathing is ragged and mixed in with an alternating of soft swearing and praise. He arches into movement, eyes shut. Heat spreads over him, a pleasant flush as he lets his head fall back against Hessian’s shoulder. His awareness can narrow down to this, Hessian’s hands and the press of his chest against Salieri’s back. Whatever else might be in his head, he’s distanced from.

Salieri claps his hand over his mouth when he comes. He manages to muffle the noise he makes only marginally -- hopefully no one else was anywhere around -- and he continues to mutter inarticulately into his palm as Hessian strokes him through it.

He slumps back against Hessian, held easily in place as his breathing returns to slow and even. It’s a few moments of appreciating the placidity, something that comes extremely rarely for him and that Hessian’s rather good at prolonging by virtue of being simply calm, before Salieri opens his eyes again. 

That was what Hessian was waiting for, and he takes the cue to carefully restore order to Salieri’s clothes. Salieri helps belatedly.

Though there’s one other - ah. “Don’t,” too late, Hessian casually wipes his hand off on the torn edge of his cloak. “Argh. I’ll clean it later, then.” It is his mess, so it’s only fair, despite the fact that Hessian doesn’t seem to care particularly. A problem for the future.

Hessian gently takes Salieri’s jaw in hand and tips his head back, where he would about be looking at Salieri’s face. Thumb moves in a gentle arc along Salieri’s cheekbone. “I’m good, yes.” The response passes muster and Hessian allows Salieri to look down again, pushing himself back so he has room to turn and lean his forehead against the collar of Hessian’s cloak. “I probably should have moved.”

A slow exhale. There’s still a bit of the fever left, everything felt too bright and too much left remaining now only in the fact that it’s hard to fully dampen anything he feels until it’s completely wrung out. “If I’m going to return the favour, it’s not going to be here.” That’s a good enough plan. He’s… _probably_ patient enough to shepherd Hessian back to somewhere actually private. Probably, Salieri thinks to himself as he moves to straddles Hessian’s hips anyways and hands settle on his waist.

He gets the feeling he’s being grinned at.

**Author's Note:**

> salieri is fuckign Loud hed better hope no one was walking by like 'oh hey piano concert wait hold o-'
> 
> my friend told me im mean for my habit of inventing ship tags on purpose bc i find rarepairs fun, but im the one in here with my brain full of hessisali, a thing Fucking No One cares about until i force my twitter moots to hear me talk about it
> 
> catch me on twitter at @durindanna for, just So Much salieri content of all kinds


End file.
